Carburetor
by Ophium
Summary: Dean has stopped eating anything but M&Ms. Sam is concerned and he knows that there's something that his brother isn't telling him. Set in season 2. Complete.


**Carburetor**

"You can't survive on M&M's alone."

"Humnhum,... says who?" Dean asked around a mouthful.

"Says anyone with a brain," Sam pointed out, his tone clearly stating his doubts about Dean being one of those people. "The body needs vitamins and minerals and protei-"

"It's peanut M&M's," Dean cut in, showing the yellow package as if to prove his point. "It's got protein."

Sam scowled. The whole thing was bizarre, from start to finish. Because this was Dean, human-vacuum-cleaner of all things eatable, who was currently refusing to eat anything _but_ those damn candies.

It had started with vegetables, and to be honest with himself, Sam almost missed that one because, really, there wasn't much difference between now and before. Except that now, it wasn't just the green stuff that Dean was avoiding like the plague, it was all things earth-groomed, things he used to love, like chips and fried onions. Though the absence of smell following a fried onion buffet was an added bonus, the rest was not.

Next was bread, which really, really made eating burgers a lot harder.

When the weirdness hit the meat group, Dean's first, second and third favorite food group, Sam got really worried.

"I don't get it," Sam confessed, watching his brother wolf down another handful of colorful candy. "You used to love eating... hell! Your stomach was more times in charge than even your dick."

"Hey!" Dean protested, more out of habit than anything else. After five seconds of mentally pondering on his internal count, Dean had to concede the point to Sam. "Besides, I still love eating."

"But you're not eating!" Sam let out, the frustration of having to argue a pretty obvious point, wearing him down.

Dean opened his mouth, semi-bitten and mushy pieces of peanut, chocolate and crusty color mingling in between his tongue and teeth and shown in all their disgusting glory. "'mm ea'ing!"

Sam just threw his hands in the air and gave up.

After two days of putting up with Dean's sugar high all night long and three days after he stopped eating anything but M&M's and coffee, Dean collapsed on his ass as he turned the curb of their current motel, on his way to get to the car and Sam managed to hold the 'I told you so' for the whole five minutes that took him to haul Dean's trembling and undernourished body back to their room. "Told you so," he whispered, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he frown down at his brother, who was currently lying on his bed, trying hard as hell not to look too weak to even seat up.

"You enjoying this, bitch?" Dean asked, no venom in his tone, but enough challenge to piss Sam off.

"Yeah, Dean, this is the part I love the best… my brother starving himself to death because he's an idiot," Sam said, the concern in voice robbing the words of their bite. "Why are you doing this to yourself?"

Dean looked at the corner of the room, so intently that Sam had to resist the urge to follow his gaze and confirm that there truly was nothing there. It took him half a second to realize that Dean wasn't looking miserable. He was looking guilty. "What? What was it? Is this some kind of curse? Are you sick and not telling me? What's happening with you?" Sam asked, his levels of worry scaling up with each passing moment of silence.

Dean finally turned his eyes on his brother, forehead scrunched up in itself like he was physically retreating from Sam reaction to what he was about to say. "I made a bet."

Sam's mouth dropped open. He caught himself in time to avoid looking like a dumb fish, closed his lips with a snap and let his head fall forward. "You made a bet. Of course."

"Bobby kept telling me that I ate like a damn plowing machine on a field of hay-"

"Bobby said that?"

"Well… maybe not as poetically…"

"He called you a garbage disposal again, didn't he?"

Dean blushed, cleared his throat and gave the stinky eye to his brother. "The point is… I bet him that I could go a month with out eating steak. Or fries."

"One month!" Sam was impressed. But then again, Dean had hit the floor three days in, so… "And what were the wages, exactly?"

"A sweet new carburetor for my baby if Bobby lost," Dean said with a beaming smile.

"And if you lost?"

Dean's blush grew deeper until he made a tomato look pale. "You remember Mrs. Thomson, from the grocery store near Bobby's?"

Sam nodded. The sweet old lady always gave them an extra cheese roll whenever they went there to stoke up the older hunter's pantry, which, given Dean's 'garbage disposal' powers of food-vacuuming, was too often.

"She offered Bobby an open bill for a month, free of charge, if he got something for her."

"Got what?" Sam asked, his suspicions swelling at the same rate that the pit in his stomach grew deeper.

"She wants some help in her store this summer. Us," Dean confessed.

"Us," Sam voiced, trying the treasonous words on for size. "And in you _me_?"

"Two weeks, starting in August… we're supposed to work around the shop… wearing short-shorts," Dean finished, the idea alone turning his cheeks from a blush to pasty white.

"I'm gonna kill you," Sam announced quietly and composed, barely contained fury burning behind his eyes.

"New carburetor," Dean explained. It was simple, actually.

"You're going to win this bet," Sam said with deadly determination. "And then I'm gonna kill you."

"But-"

"Shut up and eat your candy."

The end


End file.
